


meteor lights up like a haven

by mushydesserts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anonymous Sex, M/M, Pining, Secret Identities, Unresolved Sexual Tension, though come on we all know who it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushydesserts/pseuds/mushydesserts
Summary: "Two. Two hits," Noctis would say, just a little pleased. That's the best he's ever gotten on Gladio in sparring so far. "One more and you might just be able to win a fight," Gladio would say. Noctis would wave, and where Ignis might have bid 'Highness' before leaving, Gladio would salute. But he would flash a smile, already handsome at sixteen, and Noctis would watch him leave.Gladiolus Amicitia belongs to the Caelums, just as his father did.There's something familiar about the hunter Noctis meets at the EXINERIS plant, even if he can't quite put a finger on it. (Kinkmeme fill, complete.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The request was for anonymous sex, so I've got a bunch of backstory and angst instead first. Is Clarus/Regis a thing that's happening in the back? Don't look at me. Things are about to get really stupid and only mildly smutty, probably.
> 
> (Mentions of underage sex, alcohol use, reference to forced prostitution, uh, power imbalance? And cussing.)

 

The sun is shining and the breeze is rustling the leaves overhead when Gladio tells them he's leaving.

Noctis opens his mouth, an indignant noise threatening to escape from the back of his throat.

"Gonna be long?" he says instead. Casual.

Gladio smiles. "Not long enough for you to miss me," he says. Like a bastard.  

\---

When Noctis was thirteen years old, a keen-eyed Regis would watch him arrive from the training hall with Gladio.

Noctis would grin, hair plastered to his forehead, sweaty from exertion. Gladio would nod and bow, a formality only ever acted out in the presence of others. Noctis at thirteen cared not for the ceremony, and knew that his father didn't either. He knew, after all, how Clarus Amicitia could get away with ribbing Regis in private until the King would ball up his paperwork and lob it at his advisor's head.

"Two," Noctis would say, just a little petulant and pleased. "Two hits." That's the best he's ever gotten on Gladio in sparring so far.

"One more and you might just be able to win a fight," Gladio would say. But he'd say it amused, and Noctis would know to expect the next session to be more intense.

"One more, and you owe me a day off. And a ride." Noctis had been bugging Gladio to take him out about the city in the new car for months.

Gladio would glance at Regis' raised brow and clear his throat. "With permission," he'd evade, but Noctis would know he had him.

Noctis would wave, and where Ignis might have bid _Highness_ before leaving, Gladio would salute. But he would flash a smile, already handsome at sixteen, and then Noctis would watch him leave.

At thirteen, Noctis was not the most expressive boy, but neither was he good at hiding his thoughts.

"You get on well," his father had said one afternoon, once the other boy was out of earshot.

Noctis had turned, puzzled. "Father?"

His father had given him a look. "With Gladiolus."

Noctis shrugged. "We're friends."

This was the truth, but another voice told Noctis that there was more to it than that. _King's shield,_ he thought, and the idea felt uncomfortable, so he left it unsaid.

Noctis thought his father would've been proud, proud that he and Clarus' son were finally getting along, proud that Noctis was growing to be a Prince who was respected and liked.

Regis considered him for a long moment.

"Be careful what you demand of those around you," Regis had said at last.

Noctis would never forget this warning, and would remember it more and more frequently after leaving Insomnia.

\---

Noctis cannot remember a time when he did not know that Gladio would be his Shield.

They were children when they first met. They would grow up in similar circles without spending considerable time together, socializing with the children of nobles, though Noctis is aware he spent more years hiding behind his father's leg at events than he did getting to know his future subjects. Gladio was formally introduced to him on several of these occasions, and he remembers only that the taller boy looked about as pleased as Noctis felt—not at all.

Other children, Noctis got the impression, were instructed to be kind to the Prince. To smile, to be on their best behavior, to have manners despite Noctis's own relative lack. Gladio was different, and Noctis didn't quite understand why at the time.

A part of him discerned that it had to do with the way Gladio's father would always be with Noctis' father, how other nobles would be particularly respectful around Clarus, more so than they might've been around Noctis' father alone. "Shield" was a title that was accorded solemnity. Noctis didn't, however, quite understand why this meant Gladio could treat him differently. He remembers Gladio's eyes, and the somewhat cool regard they seemed to hold for him.

Noctis can't remember when things changed, but he does recall the first time Gladio ever smiled at him, a real smile, several sessions into the start of their training.

Noctis remembers a moment of dubiousness on his own part—surely, Gladio had made some sort of mistake—but Gladio did it again, and would do so more frequently.

\---

Clarus Amicitia had been seriously injured twice in Noctis' memory.

War made people bold. Noctis was fourteen, in the throne room the first time it happened, sitting off to the side during an annual public assembly. He recalls only the flash of light, a loud noise, and chaos; he recalls seeing his father move suddenly, the crackle of elemental light, before being pushed to the ground by one of the Crownsguard. Noctis caught a glimpse of his father's thunderous face as he bent over Clarus's still form, security closing ranks around them. Fifty feet away, the gunsman was pinned to the wall with Regis' blade through his chest.

Noctis remained inside the rest of the day. The news coverage reassured citizens only that their King was safe, and that the Crownsguard had successfully secured the palace following the incident.

Gladio came the next morning.

"How's your father?"

Gladio shook his head, pale. "He'll be fine. I'm worried about Iris."

"Is she all right?"

"She's scared. She's not old enough."

Old enough for what? Noctis had thought.

"You don't have to be here today," Noctis had said. "You can stay with your dad if you want."

Gladio's mouth only thinned, and suddenly he looked angry. "No. My place is with you."

"I didn't mean—"

"Then how did you mean it?"

Noctis was taken aback. He had an urge to snap _our fathers almost died yesterday,_ to shout back _don't pretend nothing happened,_ but he looked at the way Gladio's hands were tight at his sides, and he couldn't.

Noctis had no idea what he would do if (when) his father died. He wasn't old enough to rule. He didn't know enough about the kingdom to lead it. Ten more years, he thought desperately, and maybe he'd be ready—he could only really pray to the gods for that, because he was utterly lost otherwise.

Gladio, on the other hand, knew exactly what he would do when his own father died. He would protect the King.

Noctis didn't know how to say that none of them were old enough for this, so he only looked down and said awkwardly, "I meant thank you. For your service."

Gladio blinked and looked away as well. "It's no problem."

Noctis looked back at Gladio, saw how upset he was, and decided. "Well, I don't know about you, then, but I'm skipping practice. Someone should check on Iris."

Gladio looked surprised. "You?"

"Since you're here. Got a problem with that?"

Gladio's shoulders slowly relaxed. "If you're planning on skipping practice to see my little sister, yeah, I do."

"Well then, half time."

Gladio hefted his bag. He looked grateful. "We'll see."  

The second time, Noctis had been sixteen, and he and Gladio and Prompto were out debating over where to grab lunch ("Where're we going, guys?" "Dunno, your pick." "If we pick, you'd better eat." "Who are you, Ignis? Get off my back.") when Gladio got a phone call informing them that the palace was under lockdown. Gladio's father had been injured in line of duty. No further details. They had walked the rest of the way to Ignis' place in silence, Gladio's grip tight on Noctis's elbow.

Iris would arrive later with an armful of groceries, eyes wide but steady on her feet. They would spend the rest of the evening playing cards and listening to the radio, eating quietly. Gladio wouldn't stray from Noct's side for hours, body between him and the door, eyes on the windows.

\---

Prompto had fit into their group like the missing piece when he arrived.

Prompto loved people easily and without reservation, and it was hard for people not to love him back. Being a commoner, he had some years of politics and social maneuvering to catch up on, but he was a quick learner, despite all appearances. He was nervous about a lot of things—his eyes bugged out the first time he visited the palace, and it would take him a while to warm up around the guards—but where it mattered, he treated Noctis blissfully normally.

Now, Prompto dangles his feet over the edge of Noctis' bed, squinting at photographs of Lunafreya held up to the light.

"You are the luckiest man alive," he declares.

"I assume you're admiring the composition of the shot," Noctis says and rolls his eyes, spinning around in his chair.

"Yeah, for sure," Prompto says quickly. "Love the lighting." A long, dreamy sigh belies the sentiment a moment later.

Noctis holds out a hand for the photographs. Prompto hands them back obediently.

Noctis looks at the photographs for a moment before setting them aside: one of him and Luna together at the last diplomatic visit, and one more recent one of Luna he'd gotten with a letter. He runs a thumb down the edge of it absently. "I'm glad it's working out," he admits. "My dad wasn't sure."

"Yeah. You know, that's kind of messed up."

Noctis looks up to see Prompto staring at him, looking just as surprised as Noctis is.

Prompto perpetually seems horrified by what comes out of his own mouth, like he's afraid one of them is going to lock him away in a dungeon if he offends them. ("We don't have a dungeon, Prompto, we have regular holding facilities for people who have been put into custody." "See? That's exactly what someone with a dungeon would say.") He scrambles to clarify.

"I mean, I'd choose her, no second thoughts, but you know, you don't get to."

"We grew up together." It's been a while, but he remembers Luna: calm, resolute, sure of herself in a way he never was.

"Yeah. You and Luna, and Gladio and Iggy, I know." Prompto kicks his legs absently, staring at the ceiling. "Do you ever wonder how it would be if you didn't get along? With the people who've been chosen for you?"

Truth be told, he hadn't. Noctis shrugs. "Kind of miserable, I guess."

"Well, doesn't seem like it's a problem for you. Everybody likes you, Noct." Noctis is about to retort that this isn't remotely true, but Prompto continues. "People would literally kill for you. I mean, I think Gladio and Iggy would actually commit murder for you even if it wasn't, like... their job."

"Prompto, they're not going to kill you."

Prompto's expression changes. "You don't know what I did to Iggy's hair gel last week," he says darkly.

"What?"

"Never mind. I just mean they really, really care about you. That's... it's nice."

"Yeah." Noctis wonders if this is one of those strange pensive moods Prompto gets sometimes. "Is that a surprise?"

"No, no surprise! I mean. You know. I'm not sure anybody thought Ignis had any feelings at school, and Gladio, well, he sort of has to do what you say, right? It's kinda—people—people talk," he says lamely.

Noctis wants to ask what people talk about, and whether they think Ignis is actually a robot or what. "Gladio doesn't have to do what I say."

"Well, I know that now. But he's kinda born into his job, right? Like you were. Everybody knows your families. Everybody says that it's a good thing your dad's such a good guy, because he could've lost the serving families' loyalty years ago if—" Prompto shuts up.

Noctis throws a pen at Prompto. "You can't eat dinner with the right fork but you're already on top of the court gossip?"

Prompto is indignant. "We all have different strengths, all right?"

"Whatever. Just keep your mouth shut outside, or we'll toss you in the dungeon for giving away royal secrets."

"I knew it!"

\---

Noctis knows.

Nobody says it in his earshot, but he knows.

Ignis, with his looks and his accent and his dedication to his work, had always attracted some measure of attention from afar, but nobody really knows what he _does._ He's difficult by design to really get to know. There's a level of confidentiality to anything that's done by someone who has been vetted and deemed worthy of  being trusted with the Prince's routine. Noctis sometimes wonders himself what Ignis does, what drives him, and Noctis is perhaps the only person who spends extended time with Ignis on a daily basis.

But people know Gladio. They know his family. They know that Clarus Amicitia's son is tall and talented in combat, and that Clarus Amicitia's daughter is precocious and sociable among those her age, and that both of them are growing up to be lovely and strong, suited to their lineages, and that none of that really matters because Gladiolus and Iris Amicitia belong to the Caelums, just as their father did.

The Amicitias aren't the only noble family whose members traditionally serve another's, but they are the only family who have nowhere to turn when things go bad. This is left unsaid, but true nonetheless. Where else do you go if you displease the King?

\---

Noctis is nineteen, at a pub somewhere in the depths of the outermost West district. He didn't think he'd be recognized this far from the Citadel.

"Tell your father he's a lying piece of shit! Living off the backs of people with no homes to go back to? Dead kids out there on the side of the road just so you can sit on some fucking golden toilet seat in peace? You royals don't give a shit about any of us!"

Clearly he was wrong.

Ignis is sitting motionless opposite of Noctis, face forward, eyes narrowed on the situation. Prompto is openly staring, incensed but mortified. Noctis tries to ignore the tirade, hunching his shoulders over his fish and chips, but the man's really getting into it. He must've had more than a few drinks already.

"Well, you know who gives a shit about any of you? Nobody. You know who's gonna hide you when the Niffs come for us? That's right, none of us. Not one of us. They'll come straight for you and your father and we'll stand aside. They're gonna tear you limb from limb and pass you around and we're gonna watch. Get off me. Get off me, asshole!"

Gladio's gotten up and moved to stand between the man and Noctis, six and a half feet tall and intimidating. Even when they're out in casual civilian dress, the Crownsguard insignia is always visible somewhere on Gladio's clothing. The man recognizes it.

"What, are you gonna defend this spoiled jerk?" The man snarls, fighting off restraining arms. "Stick your neck out for him when he ain't gonna do shit for you? Keep his face pretty by letting yours get fucked up for him?"

Coming here at this hour was a mistake. The chips are good, maybe the best in this part of the city. But Noctis doesn't even really feel like eating anymore.

"Yeah, that's typical. Listen, ain't gonna be nothing left of ya by the end of this war. He's just gonna keep on walking. You're fighting for nothing. Nothing. I said get off me!"

The angry man's friend finally manages to wrestle him out of the establishment, and the entire pub has fallen silent. As Gladio gently pulls out his chair again and takes his seat next to Noctis, the bar noise slowly, gently resumes, gradually rising again to a normal volume.

"Well, that was awful," Prompto mutters, taking a bite of his his sandwich.

"Happening more often lately," Gladio agrees.

Ignis stirs his drink, still glancing darkly around the bar. "At least this time, there was no resort to violence."

"Yeah. Sure," Noctis says. He picks up a chip and moves it around on his plate.

"You okay, dude?"

Noctis glances at Prompto, who's looking at Gladio. Gladio's looking down and rubbing at a spot on his jacket.

"Got spat on a little. It'll wash off."

Prompto makes a face. "Yech."

Gladio pulls his fingers away, looks at them, and then starts to remove his jacket.

The low light catches on Gladio's arms and makes the tattoos stand out, smooth muscle and gleaming skin. If Gladio were uncomfortable showing them off, he wouldn't, but every time he does this, Noctis still feels like he ought not to stare. He's seen it enough.

But if Noctis tears his gaze away and up, it lands on Gladio's face, and that's worse.

The scar is plainly visible, a permanent scratch down the side of Gladio's face. It's healed and faded considerably, but it's becoming increasingly clear that it'll never go away completely. Gladio doesn't seem self-conscious about it, and he shouldn't be, but Noctis still feels a bit dizzy when he looks at it sometimes.

He thinks he feels angry. He's not sure who at, though.

Truth be told, he's starting to notice less. He's getting used to the way the scar looks on Gladio's face, and that makes him feel guilty as hell more than anything else.

Ignis seems to have caught onto his thoughts. "Shall we wrap up here? The Prince appears weary."

Noctis pushes back. "Sure thing. Let's get out of here."

"You gonna finish those?"

Noctis shoves his plate at Prompto. "Are you?"

"Maybe just a few..."

"We can get it boxed," Ignis says, waving for the bill.

The owner tries to offer their meal on the house, but Ignis refuses and charms an extra tip into the owner's hands ("Nonsense, the trouble was our fault. Accept our apologies for the earlier disturbance") as they take their leave.

As they stroll down the alley and into the streets, Prompto and Gladio get into a minor tussle. They toss the slimy wadded-up jacket back and forth between them like a blitzball. Ignis walks behind them. Noctis takes a deep breath.

\---

Two hours into an evening entertaining the children of foreign nobles at a dim, slick establishment far fancier than anything Noctis usually frequents in Insomnia, an eighteen-year-old Noctis politely asks if there is anything else his guests want to see.

A diplomat's son leans across the table to accept his fifth drink, glances at Gladio, and says in Noctis' ear: _What about him, in my bed? What would that take?_

Gladio is a ways off, between the door and their booth, where he tends to sit when Noctis has other company. He has his phone in his hand, probably texting Ignis outside. His face is clearly outlined by the light above the entryway, and Noctis can tell through the sudden buzzing in his ears that Gladio hadn't heard.

It takes a considerable amount of restraint for Noctis to remember that neighboring countries do not always have the same customs, and that Noctis would have to handle any misunderstandings delicately.

"Apologies," Noctis says after a moment. "That... that isn't a request I can grant."

The young man's gaze drifts over Gladio's back. "Perhaps if talks go well, then?"

He means the trade talks. Noctis grips his glass and says, firmly, politely: "I apologize if I wasn't clear. No."

"Oh." The young man finally looks back at Noctis. "I didn't mean to offend. He's very lovely. Dressed well, I have to say. Well done."

This is the fastest Noctis can remember diplomatic relations with another territory ever going south. Noctis shuts his mouth, completely speechless.

Gladio glances up. He must be alarmed by whatever he sees in Noctis' face, because he straightens, the beginnings of concern in his stance. Noctis tilts his head and gestures with his hand behind his back: I'm fine. Gladio settles.

The rest of the evening is uncomfortable. Noctis begs off before long, collecting his jacket and striding out into the night a little too fast, if Gladio's confusion is anything to go by.

"Did they try anything?" Gladio says in his ear, once he catches up with Noctis.

"No."

Gladio looks wary, but doesn't press him. "Didn't like 'em, anyway," Gladio eventually says.

The talks will eventually fall through. Noctis doesn't mind the possibility of never seeing this specific crowd again.

That night, Noctis curls up with his face to the wall in the hotel room, and waits until Gladio falls asleep in the other bed before rolling back over. He watches Gladio's chest rise and fall, the curve of his shoulders, the dark of his eyelashes in the glow of the lights through the curtains.

\---

The first time Noctis uses a Phoenix Down is on Gladio.

Gladio coughs and heaves for breath underneath him, and Noctis realizes his own hands are shaking, twisted tight into the front of Gladio's bloodied shirt. Noctis is terrified, and Gladio reaches up to ruffle his hair.

Noctis is tense for days, and a whole week later, Gladio gets fed up with his attitude and they take to the mats. Noctis sweeps Gladio's feet from under him and shoves him down, one knee on either side of Gladio's waist and hands in his shirt, and he shouts about duty and about serving the people and about the King, shouts himself hoarse, until he sees the look on Gladio's face, and then he just hides his face in his own sleeve and says nothing. Neither does Gladio.

\---

Gladio perpetually gives Noctis shit about his eating habits, his hair, his aim ("The warping can be hard to direct, all right?" "Or you could just keep your feet on the ground, like a normal person"), his tendency to let others take on the bulk of any task they're assigned (because he can get away with it).

Noctis, on the other hand, knows that Gladio lost his last shirt in the laundry about six months ago and never bothered to find a new one. He knows that Gladio gets defensive about starting campfires with magic, and that Gladio crouches down to say hi to the toddlers that occasionally stray into their paths, and that there's a heap of trashy magazines crammed under a bigger heap of paperbacks in a corner of Gladio's room. He knows Gladio doesn't really laugh very often, but he sure grins wide when Noctis wipes out.

He knows that Gladio disappears sometimes on his nights off and that he doesn't talk about where he goes afterwards, though there'll be the occasional suck-shaped bruise on his neck that he'll try vaguely to cover up. He knows that whenever Umbra shows up with a note from Luna, Gladio stands back to be respectful. He knows Gladio avoids talking about feelings in general, which is fine with Noctis, who does the same.

Noctis is used to seeing marks on Gladio's skin, ink and scars, that Noctis doesn't know. It should be enough that Gladio is willing to die for him— _must be enough—_ but Noctis knows these things, and sometimes he looks at Gladio and thinks: be careful what you demand.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

One of Noctis' earlier memories: "Morning, little Prince."

Woozy from medication and healing magic, Noctis blinked blearily in the drab light at the figure of his father's friend sitting next to his bed.

His first instinct was to look for his own father. He struggled to sit up, sweaty and uncomfortable. Clarus instead caught his eye and put up a hand to shush him, leaning back far enough to reveal the King curled up and asleep on the bed to his other side.

Noctis relaxed. Seeing his father nearby was good enough for him. Clarus passed him a cup of water, and Noctis drank slowly.

The man watched him gravely. Since he was a toddler, Noctis had often seen him around, but Clarus usually only spoke with his father. He didn't really go out of his way to talk to Noctis the way he was now. "You hungry?"

Noctis shook his head around the cup.

"You sure? There's soup and crackers waiting for you."

Noctis shook his head again. At this point, Noctis was used to this question from doctors, caretakers, whomever was around. He was getting pretty tired of their obvious disappointment in his lack of appetite.

"Gotta eat to feel better, little Prince."

Noctis looked up, down. Well, his father trusted Clarus. Maybe he'd understand.

"I'll wait... I'll wait for Dad," Noctis whispered.

At that, Clarus gave him the most nonplussed look Noctis could ever remember receiving from an adult. Noctis immediately felt guilty.

"Six have mercy, Reg," Clarus muttered. He sighed and sat up straighter, glancing at the sleeping King. Much, much later, Noctis would recognize that Clarus had probably spent the entire week wrangling either himself or his father in turns, neither of them being willing to eat without the other, and Regis being completely unwilling to sleep if Clarus wasn't watching Noctis for him. Despite the impression he gave off, Clarus apparently had inhuman reserves of patience.

"Well, your dad will be up soon enough, I guess," Clarus grumbled. "Tough enough getting him to take a five-minute nap." He gave Noctis a side-glance. "I won't tell him if you sneak a snack."

Noctis just burrowed deeper into his blankets.

"I'm just saying." Clarus gave Noctis another measured look. "Tired?"

Noctis shook his head.

"Let me guess. You can't sleep."

Noctis nodded.

Clarus drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, thinking. "Not hungry, can't sleep... not ready to get out of bed. Not much fun, eh?"

Noctis nodded miserably.

Clarus folded his arms. "You like books?"

Noctis perked up warily.

Clarus caught on immediately. "That's a yeah?"

"Uh huh," Noctis said.

Clarus laughed. He reached around the back of his chair for his jacket. "Here, let's see what I've got." He retrieved a couple old picture books, and showed one to Noctis. "This one is my son's. I borrowed it. Ever read it? No?"

Noctis scooted over to the edge of the bed. There was a picture of what looked like a sorceress and two knights on the cover. Low light caught on gold letters and made them swim. He tried to blink them into focus. He hadn't read a new story in weeks, but when he tried to reach out his arms were so heavy. If he could just...

Seeing Noctis struggle to choose between his curiosity and his need to rest his eyes, Clarus cleared his throat and cracked the book open. 

"How about you sit back and I read? It's been a while since I read this one." Clarus waved it a litle. "Thought it'd be a good time to visit it again."

Noctis glanced at his father. Looked back at Clarus. Fidgeted. "Okay," Noctis said.

Clarus grinned, and shifted closer as Noctis shifted to lean against the headboard. "All right. Listen."

Noctis remembers Regis waking before the book was done, though really, he could have been awake long before either Noctis or Clarus noticed. Noctis looked over at some point during a fit of giggles and saw that his father was awake, listening to them with a fond expression.

Noctis didn't know about it at the time, but in the weeks following his recovery, Clarus moved onto the ruling council alongside his father. Nobody was particularly surprised. Clarus spent so much time in the King's company that it made sense for him to take the office despite his duties in the Crownsguard. _He makes the decisions I can't_ , was Regis' explanation.

Noctis saw his father less and less as time went on, and he knew that Gladio rarely saw his father either. At least Noctis knew there would be someone around his dad who could handle the particularly stubborn (as he'd been assured) Lucis Caelum bloodline.

This remained true even when he and his father lost track of things to talk about. It remained true when Noctis grew closer to his friends than to his remaining family, it remained true when Noctis learned that his father had agreed to marry him to the Princess of Tenebrae, and it remained true through to their awkward farewell. There would always be someone looking after his father, even if Noctis couldn't know how.

So when Noctis hears that the King of Lucis is dead, he knows Clarus Amicitia is dead. He doesn't think it. He knows it.

\---

After the failed peace treaty and the fall of Insomnia, Gladio never speaks about their fathers.

Noctis's life has been chaos for months, with the negotiations and the uprisings and the wedding, but somehow the four of them are still here. Prompto keeps in good spirits by doing everything bigger, faster, humming louder and fidgeting more anxiously and shaking Noctis awake for photographs more excitedly (fiddling with his gun more often). Ignis keeps a sharper eye on their surroundings, and their supplies become more tightly-managed. On different occasions, they pull Noctis aside just to chat, just to distract him, to reminisce and to talk about small things of no consequence. Noctis knows they're checking up on him in their own ways, and he's thankful.

Gladio doesn't chat. Gladio stays closer to all of them, sword in his hand gripped tighter. He keeps his phone in his hand, constantly alert for news. He fights harder, longer; trains more when they camp for the night. They spend hours sitting the the back seat of the Regalia, nearly touching knees, ignoring the road behind them, ignoring the space between them.

In a way he acts as if nothing's changed, Noctis a prince, Gladio here to protect, Gladio's voice reverberating as he pulls Noctis behind him and breathes _follow my lead._

\---

With the news that Luna had survived, Noctis breathes again for what feels like the first time in weeks. He has a future. No kingdom, no throne, but a future. A hope for something left to protect.

Nobody else appears to sense the change. Maybe it made no difference to them. Noctis had always been their future.

\---

Noctis likes chocobos, but discovers shortly after the start of their trip that chocobos do not like Noctis.

They seem to like his company, but they do not like to cooperate with him. Prompto takes about a thousand photographs of Noctis trying to get onto his chocobo before Gladio rides by and grabs Noctis by his belt, hoisting him upright. Noctis flushes, but then Prompto accidentally rides his chocobo into a lake, and Ignis makes his chocobo do a semi-backflip to avoid stumbling into Prompto's, and maybe it's time to find a place to camp for the evening.

After days mucking through marshes miles outside of civilization, they dry off by the fire, and play cards over dinner to see whose turn it is to do the dishes. Ignis cleans his knives while Gladio and Prompto pour over photos and snicker. Prompto points something out, and Gladio tilts his head, looks up at Noct, looks back down at the screen. He shakes his head. Noctis rolls his eyes. Evenings like this, Noctis can almost forget that there's no home to go back to.

\---

_You're not the only one having a hard time._

It takes nearly getting killed by a deity of old to crack Gladio. Fucking Gladio.

There's a moment when Gladio snarls at him and Noctis finally sees the panic in his eyes. _Let me do my job,_ Gladio says, and Noctis hears _you're the only thing we have left to fight for._

This is the only time Noctis ever feels like a King: the groaning of the Earth under his feet, thunder in the skies, pounding in his chest, the only people in the world he knows he could never let down at his back.

Gladio's breath hitches and he presses a hand to his side during every battle for two days after their run-in with Ravus. If the Chancellor hadn't intervened, Noctis might've killed Ravus, might've set half a dozen kings and gods on him without a thought. Ravus hadn't been there for Luna, and the Empire has wanted them all dead for months, anyways.

\---

They're somewhere in West Duscae, starry sky above and blue runes a quiet hum beneath their feet.

The chocobos have been fed and are rustling happily around the fire. Prompto's talking animatedly with Ignis about cactuars, malboros, and endangered species photography. Ignis is listening with an intent look on his face, indicating either focused concentration on his part, or that he checked out about ten minutes ago. It's difficult to tell with Ignis, but Prompto has pointed out that occasionally, Ignis will reference some throwaway comment he made a full week later, so he's clearly processing in some manner, whether he's actually listening or not.

Noctis isn't quite drowsy yet, but he's getting to that content phase where he doesn't want to move for much of anything. Gladio's lazily waving a Gysahl leaf at his chocobo, which is nibbling at it in the same way Noctis feels.

Gladio suddenly lowers his arm.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Noctis stares, skeptical, so Gladio goes on. "It's the seventh day of the month."

"So?"

Gladio raises the leaf again. "Half-price burgers at Barret's Bar."

Noctis stretches, campfire crackling. "Don't let Ignis hear ya."

"He had a stack of coupons for the place this thick," Gladio scoffs, holding out his finger and thumb to demonstrate. "'Don't let Ignis hear ya.' Right."

Noctis chuckles. "Yeah. He never could get those burgers right. Not like any of us were much help. What the hell did they put in them?"

"Liquor? Daemons? Mystery meat."

"Well, we've got enough of exactly two of those things out here." Noctis puts his arms behind his head. "Remind me to stock up on mystery meat."

"Not the liquor?"

"I know you've got a case somewhere. No idea where. But you always do."

Gladio looks mock-offended for about half a second, but then grins, proud. Noctis kicks him lightly, and Gladio nudges him back with his knee.

A thought occurs to Noctis. "Do you think it's still there?"

"What?"

"Barret's Bar. I mean, it's probably still _there_ , but..." Noctis trails off. "Guess we're not going to be using those coupons anytime soon."

Gladio quiets at that.

For all everybody thinks Noctis is the sentimental one of the group, Gladio's the one who seems to care the most about what they've left behind. But then Gladio's never really had the luxury of stopping to miss anything.

Noctis remembers the midday bustle on Insomnia's streets, the clink of glasses and blaring music, the night ruckus and spilling out of a dim bar at two in the morning, spinning city lights and Prompto's laughter and Ignis' hand on his elbow and the smell of Gladio's leather jacket, and he almost regrets starting this conversation.

There's a rising frustration in Noctis' chest and he wishes—not for the first time, and not for the last—that _someone else_ was doing this. Maybe then they could fight for what they wanted to fight for, and rest when they needed to rest, and rage when they needed to rage, and mourn when they needed to mourn.

Noctis can see the firelight reflected in Gladio's eyes, moving shadows and light.  "We'll get it back," Gladio says. He looks back at Noctis, and Noctis feels the heat of it. "We'll get Insomnia back."

\---

Gladio doesn't sleep as well on the road. He lies still and doesn't snore, which is a mercy for the rest of them in the tent, but they all know it just means he isn't getting a full rest.

Sometimes, when Gladio dozes off midday in the car, Noctis glances over and touches the backs of his fingers to the side of Gladio's arm, just lightly. He doesn't know how Gladio doesn't get cold in the wind, all that bare skin, and he tells himself he's just checking.

Gladio, usually immediately alert at the crack of dawn or at the sound of a monster in the underbrush, never wakes when Noctis does this. Noctis will waver a moment, then pull his hand back, and look away towards the sunset over Cleigne.

\---

"Puny, just like yours."

Noctis drops the fish down the back of Gladio's jacket.

\---

For a while after they meet up with Iris again, everything seems near normal.

Not quite, because they're all aware of what they're running from. But with Iris crammed between Noctis and Gladio in the back seat, it seems more imperative than ever to act like things are all right, like the whole war is a minor setback, like they've just yanked Iris out of school for a small, fun detour of a trip and they'll have ber back home by sundown. Noctis doesn't think he'd have dealt so well with everything when he was fifteen, but the Amicitias are a tough bunch.

They camp, they fish, they hunt; Iris laughs at their stories and gives them shit about not helping Ignis cook. Noctis can't remember the last time they smiled so much. Just after they left Insomnia, probably.

Iris steals embarrassed looks at him whenever she thinks he's not looking, and Noctis tries to pretend he doesn't notice. She's a good kid. He thinks Gladio might've made fun of her for it before, but he doesn't do it so much anymore. Nor does Gladio seem inclined to rescue him from their floundering conversations now. He just watches Noctis from a safe distance and tries not to laugh over her shoulder, but it's good to know that some things are still the same.

They reach Caem on a good day, with sunlight to spare. The lighthouse feels like a remote retreat, but a welcoming one. They meet Cindy and Cid, Talcott and Dustin and Monica, and it's such a relief to have familiar faces about, to have meals around a table and darts to play and a bathroom to fight over and gossip to catch up on, that Noctis doesn't really notice Gladio taking his leave now and again with a faint smile and a ruffle of Iris' hair.

\---

The air is cool against Noctis' face when he steps out onto the balcony, moon full overhead, the sound of the surf against the rocks audible far below. He rubs his arms at the sudden chill.

Inside, he can hear Talcott giggling, Prompto wailing about another lost card game, the clink of dishes and glasses and the radio playing. He can see the smoke from the nearby campsite rising in the distance, the lights on the bridge over the bay. There's the faint splashing of a pack of seadevils near the shore.

He senses someone exit the room behind him.

"Need my jacket?" Gladio's voice comes.

Noctis drops his arms. "I'm wearing a lot more than you are, buddy."

Gladio snorts. Noctis can hear the silent "you always are" and shoots him a look.

Gladio drops it, and comes up beside Noctis to lean against the railing. "Ready to leave?" he says.

Noctis lets out a breath and looks out over the water. Here, on the edge of the continent, with Duscae and Cleigne and the dustlands of Leide behind them, he feels strangely small. He's travelled before, but not quite like these last few weeks have been—never on the ground, seeing the day-to-day lives of the people in the outlying regions, the crumbling shelters and the oil-soaked pavement, the soaring peaks of Ravatogh and the grassy underbrush of Malmalam.

"Not really."

"Huh. Well, we've got some time, but you'd better be soon," Gladio says.

Noctis knows he's right, but still tightens his grip on the railing.

Gladio seems to sense his apprehension. He nods towards the moon instead. "Looking forward to seeing her?"

Luna. "Seeing her safe? Yeah."

"I'm sure she'll be glad to see you, too."

Noctis nods. It's meant to be reassuring, but truth be told, he still isn't sure quite what to think about it all.

For months, Noctis has brushed off the guys' good-natured teasing, but even when the wedding was meant to be a straightforward deal, it was never really that simple. He had always cared a great deal for Luna, but he hasn't seen her in a long time. He'd never spent much time with her.

He had always known that marriage would be a political arrangement for him. He was happy about the peace, about the treaty, about the engagement. He liked Luna. He might have even loved her, and he was certainly willing to try if he didn't. But then loving her had never really had anything to do with it.

Gladio's watching him, holding his phone in his hand, a text notification blinking forgotten on the screen.

Noctis deflects. "What about you? Are you leaving anyone behind?"

Gladio looks surprised. His phone stops blinking. "Leaving anyone behind?"

The bewildered look on his face makes Noctis smother a laugh. "Back in Insomnia. Were you—?" Noctis waves vaguely, suddenly curious. "Prompto's always on your ass for being some sort of Casanova," he clarifies.

Gladio chuckles. "Prompto's in love with half the people we meet. Ain't my fault he doesn't know what he's doing."

That's true enough. "Weren't you with somebody from the guard just before we left? I remember Iris messing with you about it." He's seen the soldiers and guards off-duty on occasion, dropping by the barracks to find Gladio. He wouldn't say they were a bad-looking group of men and women.

But Gladio's expression changes from bemused to unreadable. He studies Noctis for a while, as if trying to decide what to say.

"Didn't think you paid attention to what goes on in the guard," he says.

Noctis flushes slightly. He doesn't, really. Other than Gladio, he didn't have many friends in the military. He knows fraternization was generally frowned upon, and so nobody really talked about that sort of thing in front of him, and he never had his dad's interest in the personal lives of those who worked for the royal family. He probably should have, but—

"It's all right," Gladio says. "Wasn't the first. Nothing serious. Never had the time to be." He looks off into the distance. When he speaks again, he's quieter. "Besides, don't know what happened to him. Can't exactly call around. We lost a lot of people."

Noctis feels a cold chill crawl down his spine. Him. Lost a lot of people. "He wouldn't know if you were alive either, then."

"No. We were Crownsguard, Glaives. We didn't always get along, but we all knew our jobs."

Well. That was just cheerful. Way to go, Noct. "Do you want to contact him?"

Gladio shakes his head. "No way to do it right now. Your safety's the priority."

"When we get back?" It might be a while, and they both know it. Noctis doesn't know what else to say.

"Maybe." Gladio shifts away from Noctis, and Noctis realizes all over again how cold it is without Gladio's body heat right next to him.

Danger seems removed from the moment, but Noctis shouldn't forget. Can't. It wouldn't be fair. This is his war, and they're here because of him, and they've lost what they have because of him.

There's a distant groaning of daemons somewhere across the bay, too far to cross the water. Inside, the Justice Monsters Five theme is playing on someone's phone as Talcott and Iris cheer.

"We'll make it worth it," Noctis blurts aloud. "I promise." He doesn't know how, but he will.

Gladio looks at him, eyes visible in the warm lamplight, and shakes his head slowly. He lets out a tiny laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing," Gladio says. He rests a hand on Noctis' shoulder, warmth lingering, then turns to go back inside. "Go to bed, princess. Don't want the trouble of having to wake you up tomorrow morning."

Noctis watches him go, at a loss.

\---

The last time Noctis had spent the night with anyone, it was summer break before his last year in school.

His father's health had been taking a turn for the worse along with the war. Nobody would talk to him about it. Not Ignis, who seemed determined to shield him from the worst of it, nor Gladio, who spent more and more time with the other guards in training and on patrol, nor any of the others. He and Prompto were left to their own devices, killing hours in the arcade, on the bluffs, sharing bottles in the sun.

They ran into a group of girls that Noctis vaguely recognized from the finishing school down the road on one of these afternoons, and allowed themselves to be dragged to a house party the rest of the evening. Prompto was lost to the crowd immediately, selfies and shots with a sly-looking dark-haired girl and her shy, bubbly friend who wanted to see all of Prompto's attempts at photography. Noctis resigned himself to getting a couple mass drunk texts at four in the morning.

Noctis wound up instead on the back porch, pleasantly buzzed with a stranger maybe a year or two older, a good several inches taller, with what he remembers as a reckless smile. "We hear about you, Crown Prince," the guy had teased. "You were a cute kid on the news."

"Sorry to disappoint," Noctis had said.

"You don't disappoint." The guy had brown eyes, dark and keen. He tilted his head. "You really magic?"

Noctis tossed back the rest of his beer. "Wanna find out?"

Noctis spent the night in a shitty hotel room, completely aware that Ignis would chew him the fuck out the morning after but not really caring. The stranger's hips dug into his thighs, and he opened his mouth, fingers clawing at the tattooed lines on his shoulders, again and again and again.

He'd woken up to find the stranger gone the next day, Prompto's three dozen drunk texts blinking at him on his phone. He felt lighter, even though Ignis chewed him out for hours, and Gladio wouldn't stop looking at him like he was trying to figure something out. Noctis couldn't say what it was, but couldn't meet his eyes anyway.

\---

"Got some business of my own to deal with," Gladio says.

Noctis opens his mouth, a dozen things and the start of an argument fighting to be heard. He could demand that Gladio stay, that he explain, that he take them along with him. He wants to appeal to Ignis, even, as if that would do anything but piss Ignis off.

He thinks of his father. Careful what you demand.

"Gonna be long?" Noctis says instead.

Gladio smiles, soft. "Not long enough for you to miss me."

Bastard.

\---

 

Everything is off-balance. Noctis turns to say something to Gladio before he remembers that Gladio isn't here. When they fight monsters, Noctis takes hits where he expects Gladio to be covering his back. The backseat of the car is too wide without Gladio's legs taking up two-thirds of the space, and Noctis slides over like an idiot when Ignis makes a left turn. Even Prompto's photographs look off-kilter, somehow, three figures and a space.

Calls to Gladio's mobile go to voicemail, while text messages go unanswered. When Prompto complains about Gladio missing out, Noctis jokes about Gladio meeting girls.

None of it bothers him. Why should it? They all spent plenty of time apart back in the Crown City. Prompto had his photography hikes, Ignis his coffee shops. Gladio did whatever Gladio did. Noctis never held a monopoly over their lives.

But it's been different since they set out on this trip. It's been different since they all realized how few people there were left that they could trust.

Pettily, Noctis wants to be angry: your place was here.

\---

"Touchy subject?"

Ardyn's smirking, and Noctis feels the fury down to his bones.

He doesn't know where Gladio is.

Ignis replies stiffly for all of them, thank the gods for Ignis, and Prompto stands defiantly closer to Noctis, as if trying to close ranks.

Ardyn seems to want to prod a little further, but sees none of them will say anything. Ardyn drops the subject.

He still doesn't know where Gladio is.

\---

Noctis is used to nightmares now, the haze of gunfire and the vertigo of warping, blue and silver light, shards of magic, the smell of blood and fuel and the thunder of old voices in his ears.

He wakes up instead in the unnatural humidity of the tent, sound of bugs chirping outside, sticky and breath coming too quick.

There's nothing but canvas in front of his face, and he knows what he'll see when he turns his head. Ignis, a still dark shape to his left, and Prompto now, just a gleam of gold hair and pile of sprawling limbs on the far side.

The tent is cooler without Gladio in the space in between. Noctis doesn't feel cooler.

Noctis feels hot, fevered.

\---

Later, Noctis will vaguely blame his father for what happens at the EXINERIS plant. What's the point of an emergency boat if you can't use it when you need it?

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Once, giddy with the success of the hunt and far enough away from any outpost to think better of it, Gladio and Noctis had tried to see if they could cook a garula with Noctis' fire elemancy.

The attempt had ended with a lot of yelling, cursing, running, rolling in the mud, and a carcass charred beyond any form edible to a human being. Noctis and Gladio had a moment of panic before ascertaining that they were both still intact. Then Noctis had snorted at Gladio's singed hair, and Gladio had shoved him back into the mud, and the impromptu wrestling match that ensued wrecked the other half of Gladio's already-toasted jacket.

"Guess I ain't wearing this back," Gladio had said regretfully, peeling the tattered cloth off with two fingers.

"Tragedy," Noctis had deadpanned as he got to his feet. "You usually leave so much to the imagination."

"You think Iggy'll buy it if I say a coeurl clawed it off?"

"That does sound like something that would happen to you."

Gladio dropped the jacket in a puddle. "Remind me to put in a request for something fireproof from the Guard."

"What, can't handle the heat?" Noctis tried to get the mud out of his hair .

"More like you can't handle your own ass without incinerating the people trying to save it."

"That's what you all say." Noctis brushed off his trousers, leaving long streaks down the front. "Some people," he continued with dignity, "are just naturally cool."

Gladio snorted. "Yeah, and you never broke a sweat in your life, Ice Prince." He clapped Noctis on the back. "C'mon."

Now, outside the power plant, Noctis grimaces as he tries to adjust the straps on his thermal suit so that they don't dig into his crotch.

On second thought, maybe it's better that Gladio isn't around for this. He'd laugh himself off the planet.

\---

The suit he's been loaned is one of the least comfortable things he's ever worn. The natural heat of Lestallum has sweat soaking through the fabric of his shirt even with the built-in cooling, and the heat of the generators hits him like a wave as he approaches the plant. They'd only been able to scrounge up one suit on short notice, so Noctis is going in alone.

On the one hand, Noctis feels insecure about leaving Prompto and Ignis behind. On the other, there's also a measure of relief in being on his own for once.

Crossing the bridge in the dark, isolated from the outside air by the helmet, Noctis feels like he's walking into a void. It's nice to leave behind name, title, duty, everything else for just a while. He wonders if Gladio's off doing the same somewhere on the continent. If nothing else, Ignis and Prompto get a break from looking after them for a few hours.

Holly's voice comes through the radio. _"There's a hunter who went in right ahead of you,"_ she says.

The facility rises up before him, grimy walls and cracked paint dull in the floodlights. It looks deserted. Either it had already been empty for the night, or it had been evacuated quickly when the alarms went off. It doesn't look like Noctis will have any trouble finding the hunter.

Sure enough, Noctis sees a lone figure up ahead. Unsure if he's been spotted, he walks a little faster to close the distance between them.

The hunter unfolds himself from against the fence.

He's taller than Noctis, broad-shouldered. That's all Noctis can tell about him through the thermal suit, and judging from how opaque the man's visor is in the light, Noctis can tell that the man can't see his face, either. There's no way the hunter will be able to recognize Noctis, whatever he might have heard about the news coming out of Insomnia. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

"You my backup?" He can hear the other man's voice crackle through the earpiece. The words echo, fizzing with static, distorted.

"I thought we were partners," Noctis says. It sounds more petulant out loud than it did in his head. _Used to having our way, are we?_ says a voice in his head that sounds like Ignis. Noctis shushes it, cheeks warm.

The man appears to brush it off. "Anyway, the place is crawling with daemons." He checks his gear, and Noctis does the same, feeling the tug of his blades at his fingertips. "Power readings are unstable. Nobody's going to be able to fix the generators while they're around."

There's something familiar about him.

Noctis doesn't want to bring up the issue of identities, since he's got more to lose than anyone else here if the other hunter gets curious, but there's something.

"Have I seen you around here before?" Noctis tries.

The hunter cocks his head. "Don't think so," he says. He turns and walks towards the entrance. "If we're done with the introductions, follow me."

Noctis is sure there's something.  

But then his mind's been playing tricks on him for a while, and he doesn't need to be seeing things that aren't there now. Especially not in the middle of this, when he hasn't got anybody else looking after him.

The man's stopped at the entrance of the building and turned to look back at him.

"Anything the matter?" he says, sounding puzzled.

Noctis shakes his head. "No," he says, then strides quicker to catch up.

\---

There are dozens, scores of daemons when they get inside. Winged like large insects, goblins and garchimaceras. Nothing that would give a group of skilled hunters pause, but there are only two of them here, and the suits don't offer the best mobility.

The other hunter slices through the creatures like butter.

The daemons draw in to them on the narrow catwalks. He takes Noctis' left side and dispatches them effortlessly with swipes of a broadsword that most would need two hands to wield.

Noctis bridges his strikes. He tries to focus on what they're doing, but if he's honest, he's watching the other man fight too, watching the way he shifts his weight before he barrels right down the center of the grates. He's fast despite his size.

"You handling it?" The earpiece buzzes.

"Just fine," Noctis grunts.

The hunter executes a backslash that he follows through with a two-handed twirl, low to the ground. Noctis wonders if he usually hunts alone.

Noctis could probably warp without drawing much attention in here, but he tries to keep it subtle. He puts a slight boost here and there behind his movements. He takes out the ones in their periphery, the ones that the other hunter doesn't catch in his wide sweeps. If the man's looking, Noctis would just seem quick on his feet.

"Some pretty fancy moves you got there," the hunter says.

He is looking, then.

"Not too shabby yourself. You'd make a good sparring partner," Noctis says.

"You think so?" His voice is amused, a low rumble in Noctis' ear. Noctis feels a chill of recognition, but he still can't make it out.

\---

They methodically clear the plant, starting from the south quadrant and moving clockwise. The daemons are drawn to the movement, the ruckus, creeping out into the red glow of the reactors and throwing themselves down. Soon, there are only a few stragglers left, clinging to the corners.  

Holly warns them over the radio that the readings are showing dangerous power surges. _"Abort the mission and get outta there,"_ she orders.

Noctis knows he should get out while they can. He has things to be doing, duties to fulfill, there's Ignis and Prompto and Gladio and Luna out there, people waiting for their king. But with his muscles burning with the heat of combat, everything narrowed down to the hunt, Noctis finds in the moment that he doesn't want to let it go.

He shakes some daemon gore off his blade and glances over at the other hunter. The hunter props himself up with his own sword, surveying the destruction around them.

Whoever he is, he probably isn't a king. Whatever he's getting paid, it probably isn't worth getting reduced to a smear on the ground in a power generator meltdown. But he doesn't seem to be in any more of a hurry to leave than Noctis does.

The hunter looks at Noctis.

Noctis hears his thick growl over the radio. "I ain't one to leave unfinished business."

Noctis grins.

\---

"Do a lot of hunting around these parts?"

He and the hunter are doing a quick survey of the main floor before the workers come in for clean-up. Now that the immediate danger seems to be over, the hunter doesn't seem to be against making small talk.

"Not really," Noctis says. He takes a snap of some structural damage for Holly. "More like just passing through."

"Headed north?"

Noctis evades the question. "Once the blockades let up, maybe."

"I get it. Anywhere but east is good these days."

Because of the Empire, he means. Because of Insomnia. Noctis swivels to look at him. "Have you been?" He doesn't want to know, really, but he has to ask.

"East?" The hunter grips his sword over his shoulder. "Not in a while. Had some family back there, though."

Shit. "Sorry," Noctis says.

The man looks away and scratches at the back of his neck through his suit, awkward. "No. Well, same story for a lot of people, I guess."

"Sure," Noctis says. He thinks of his father again. Thinks horribly, for maybe the first time he's really allowed himself to think so, that he got off pretty lucky. Everybody lost family. He wonders if Prompto knows what happened to his parents. He wonders if he should've said something to Ignis.

He'll say something later. Before they get to Altissia. He owes them that, at least.

Noctis is lost enough in his thoughts that he only barely looks up in time to see a shadow in the corner of his eye.

The hunter's barking a warning, and something clips his shoulder. Noctis is thrown off-balance, and then a stray garchimacera is on him.

_Shit._

Claws dig into his torso and Noctis reels back. It scrabbles at his visor. He turns his head and fumbles for his knife. The daemon's got his arm pinned to the rail, and he wrestles with its weight, feeling the material of his suit begin to fray, heat seeping through. If it takes out his suit, he's out for the count.

He tries for a lighter blade, but can't get leverage. Maybe if he can get ahold of a firearm. Maybe if he gets some distance.

He twists away, getting a foot between the wiry creature and his torso. Noctis snarls. A trickle of fear cuts through the haze, and all the uncertainty of the moment before melts away. He needs to live. He needs to fight. He kicks outwards, boost of panic in his veins giving him momentum. The creature snags his leg, yanks him back—

And then the other hunter is on him, pulling the garchimacera away.

The greatsword tears through a leathery wing with a crunch. The daemon screeches. It flails, then hurtles towards them again, but the hunter braces himself in front of Noctis, and the crash of claws against the sword sends up black smoke.

"Look out!"

"Get down!"

A great flash, and the man buries the sword in the daemon, screech of blade on metal grate.

The daemon struggles wildly, then goes limp. There's a moment where everything is still, Noctis sitting flat on the floor, the hunter standing in front of him.

Noctis' earpiece crackles. "Watch yourself."

Noctis swallows, throat dry. "Yeah." He tries to get to his feet, but the hum of the generators and the heat are making him woozy, and the hunter has to offer him a hand. Noctis takes it, feeling the solid grip beneath the gloves. The hunter pulls Noctis to his feet like Noctis weighs nothing.

"That all of them?"

"Think so. Must've missed that one somehow," Noctis says numbly.

"Good thing we got it, then. "

"Good thing you had your eyes open."

"You had it. I just finished it off."

"Nice teamwork." Noctis' heart is hammering in his chest.

"You all right?"

The man is looking at him.

Noctis looks down at himself. There's daemon blood all over his suit, guts on his visor, between the fingers of his gloves.

He can't remember what he was upset about before. His mind is blissfully blank, relief and adrenaline better than a potion. He can taste iron in his mouth. Magic tingles under his skin, like the Astrals whispering to him.

"Better than," Noctis says.

\---

The hunter checks in with Holly while Noctis sits on the steps leading down to the main core, flexing and unflexing his fingers. He's overheated under the insulation, coolant doing next to nothing now. They should get somewhere cooler. Get out of their gear, rehydrate, maybe take a cold shower. Noctis doesn't care.

The hunter paces back to where Noctis is sitting as he signs off on the radio. He comes to a stop, thighs roughly level with Noctis' line of sight.

Noctis stretches out and leans back to look at him. His leg brushes up against the man's calf. Noctis sees the hunter's gaze shift up and down his own body almost imperceptibly. He smiles a little behind his visor.

"Anywhere you need to be?" the hunter says finally.

Noctis tilts his head. "Not for the next twenty minutes."

The man considers Noctis. Noctis wonders what the man looks like underneath there. He wonders what the man thinks he looks like. He wonders if it makes a difference.  

The hunter holds out a hand. "Wanna check the roof?"

\---

The roof of the plant is nearly pitch dark.

Heat radiates from the floor beneath them, red-hot glow of the generators below slowly fading out as they ascend. They emerge from the jumble of grates and catwalks into open air, the sky above them smog-black. The light pollution from the city doesn't reach out this far. Noctis is surprised there aren't more daemons here. But perhaps they don't like the meteor, the same glow as the haven runes.

Beyond the railings, the crystal fields gleam a faint blue below, rolling into the Lucian wilderness. Noctis can't tell if he finds it eerie or beautiful.

The other hunter had removed his helmet as soon as the elevator had departed the illuminated floors below. Neither of them could see each other. Noctis had kept his visor on, cautious even in the dark. Now, Noctis fumbles with the fastening, his gloves making his fingers clumsy.

The hunter, just a shadow, reaches over and helps him undo the clasp. The air hits Noctis' face, cooling. He swipes the sweat from the bridge of his nose, then remembers to remove his gloves, working one from his wrist. His hair has been in his eyes for hours, plastered to his forehead, and he makes to brush it out of the way.

But the hunter's hand carefully finds his own wrist, bare skin on skin, and Noctis nearly jumps at the contact. Noctis forgets about fixing his hair. There's a hand on Noctis' jaw.

He can feel the other man's breath on his lips. He presses forward more urgently.

Noctis tilts his head up until their mouths brush. _Please,_ Noctis mouths.

The hunter complies.

The man's lips are dry but warm. Noctis reaches up for a better angle, and finds that the man's jaw is sharp and rough with stubble. He smells like salt and earth. Noctis can't see what they're doing, but it doesn't really matter. He steps back until he finds concrete behind his heels, backs himself up against the wall, and pulls the man in with him.

Noctis's hands find the fastenings of the other man's suit undone, sweat-soaked cotton tank top beneath and hot skin. He locks his hand around the back of the hunter's neck, and his fingers tangle their way into long hair. Tied up in a knot—so as not to get caught in the helmet, Noctis thinks. He tugs, feels teeth on his lips, presses forward anyway. They fumble against the suits, zippers and buckles. Noctis thinks they'll probably have a grand old time trying to pick apart knots in the equipment straps later, but for now, the material chafes his knuckles as he pulls them off too quickly, kicks them aside into the corner.

The hunter's hands are bare, rough, warm, and they skim up under Noctis' shirt, along his ribs. Noctis shivers. He presses his hips forward, and the man presses back, hardness digging into Noctis' thigh, through the fabric, through the insulation, not enough leverage.

The man hisses. He shifts his grip.

And they're moving, crushed against each other, mouths barely touching. The man's hand is tight on the small of his back, both of them sweat-slick, half out of their suits. Noctis slides his hands down, fingers hooking into the man's trousers, and he finds hot skin there, scalding. Noctis' trousers are tight, pressure between his legs, aching rhythm, and his hands rove. He imagines thighs, the smooth planes of a stomach and that he's stolen countless glances at during sparring sessions. In the dark, it's easy to do.

But when he slides his hand up the man's abdomen, the man pauses. A bigger hand catches his palm gently and removes it, holding it suspended for a second.

"Okay," Noctis whispers.

The hunter slides Noctis' hand back down and settles it on his side, and then shifts to grip Noctis' hips and starts to move again.

The grip on his hips is crushing, tingling, shocks down to his toes, slide of cotton rough between his legs. Noctis tries to curl his legs, flexes, arches. Noctis tries not to make a noise, but maybe he does, and the hunter laughs, a suppressed sound.

Then there's a brief second of cool air, and Noctis' hands find shoulders, a dip between neck and collarbone, and he feels the hunter's slick lips on his cock.

The wet swallows him down, pressing him against the wall. Noctis' mouth opens in a half-gasp, half-shout.

The man moves, fucks his mouth on Noctis. Noctis' hands slide on bare shoulders, and his knuckles find invisible scars, ridges of warm muscle. He traces them, again and again.

Noctis tries to think about Luna, blue eyes and small mouth and pale skin and soft curves and gold hair, but Luna's for the moonlit nights, for still water and blue flowers, for a city still standing, and all Noctis has now is daemons and dying meteor shards and gasoline and grit, ghosts and blood and furious brown eyes.

Noctis can't move. He doesn't care to move.

There are fingers digging into the backs of his thighs, his ass, and Noctis bucks forward. His muscles are tight, heat between his legs, heated everywhere under his skin, sensation he can't put a name to rolling over him in waves. His heels press against the concrete, and he can't see anything, thunder beneath his eyelids.

There's a name on his tongue. He doesn't say it.

The hunter doesn't stop.

\---

Some time after Noctis loses his senses, the hunter comes back up. He guides Noctis' hand down to the thick length in the front of his trousers, and Noctis does his best to create a steady rhythm. The man finishes with a few quick thrusts, Noctis nearly crushed against the wall, not able to care, not able to say how long any of it took.

Noctis can feel him shudder, a breath across his bare cheek. Maybe it's someone's name. Noctis can't tell. He doesn't mind.

\---

At seventeen years old, Noctis had been warping for a year, and was finally able to do it consistently in combat.

He didn't have much opportunity to show it off, seeing as he was barely outside the city, let alone in any situation warranting combat. But it allowed him to close the last bit of gap between himself and Gladio in the training room, and that privately thrilled him more than anything. They'd always had different strengths and fighting styles, but now they were evenly-matched.

"Still ain't used to it," Gladio said one day, resting on his greatsword and catching his breath. "When I close my eyes I swear I still see ten of ya."

Noctis straightened up on the other side of the room, shaking out his wrists and panting. "So not a bad view?" he grinned.

"One of you's more than enough to keep an eye on," Gladio countered.

Noctis dusted himself off. "No use looking if you can't touch," he said.

Gladio looked amused. "Sure you wanna be that cocky right now?"

Noctis was feeling cocky. Maybe that was why he did it. He hefted one knife in one hand, then flipped the other in his other hand, and without a thought, flung both at the far wall.

One blade embedded itself into the wall to the right of Gladio's head. The other buried itself on the left. A flash, and then Noctis was nose-to-nose with Gladio.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Noctis smirked.

Noctis held position for just long enough to see Gladio's eyes widen from three inches away. Then he yanked the blades free.

Gladio would go on to wipe the floor with him that day, but Noctis would never forget the look on Gladio's face.

\---

The shadows are beginning to lighten, the night starting to lift to the east. They pull off each other with a reluctant effort, tired and sticky with sweat. Noctis slides down to the ground, legs weak, and some feet away he can sense the other man do the same.

Noctis considers saying something, but what is there really to say? Noctis can't talk about himself, so it's not as if there's much conversation to be had. And there's always the risk that his voice'll be recognized. "I Once Sucked The King Of Lucis Off On The Roof Of A Power Plant"—that'd be a fun story for the hunter to tell his grandkids. But Ignis would kill him.

The hunter doesn't seem to feel compelled to speak either. Noctis can just make out the shape of the man, turned towards the light coming over the mountains.

It's about time for both of them to go if they want to make it out before the clean-up crews move in. Noctis wonders where the hunter's going. There'll be plenty of work if the daemons keep coming, but Noctis wouldn't fault the man if he wanted to get out, go somewhere the days were longer. Of course, not many people have much of an option out here. As royalty, Noctis might have connections and a ride off-continent, but he'll be leaving this place behind in a pretty shitty state.

He'd apologize for that, but right now he's just a hunter, and it's too early in the day.

The man rolls over, grabs his shirt. Noctis silently shrugs his suit back on as well. He adjusts the earpiece, switching it back on. At last, he lowers the helmet over his head again, visor settling over his face.

\---

"Some night," the hunter says through the radio as they exit the elevator on the ground floor.

"Yeah," Noctis says. The sunlight's coming in through the entryways now.  "Not all bad."

The hunter chuckles. "Guess I won't be seeing you."

"Not likely."

"Then go kill some daemons out there."

"Same to you."

The hunter disappears over the bridge. By the time Noctis ducks into a side room to pull his suit off, the man is long gone.

\---

Prompto's elated to see him when he emerges from the power plant. Ignis gives Noctis a once-over and a searing _are you kidding me_ look, but doesn't say anything.

While they draw up accounts with Holly, Prompto offers support for Iris' contention that Noct "might want to freshen up" by waving a hand in front of his nose.

"I'll shower when we get back," Noctis says.

"Yeah? Iggy? Leave the top down," Prompto says, wrinkling his nose.

"Noted."

They still have daylight and Noctis is starving, so they head to the local tipster and chow down before taking up a random low-level hunt nearby. Noctis is grateful for something easy and mindless to do, because his head is swimming, and he's not sure how on top of his game he can be if they need to actually focus on something useful. Ignis and Prompto know that he was out all night, so they aren't too hard on him, though Noctis thinks maybe they would be if they knew _what_ he was out all night doing.

Their phones all buzz with a group text halfway through the battle, and Noctis nearly gets his head taken off by a Saberclaw.

 _Back in Lestallum. At the Leville,_ it says.

Prompto lets off six rapid shots. The Saberclaw crashes to the ground. "About time!" he shouts. "Where the hell has he been?"

Ignis wipes his gloves off with a great sigh.

\---

Gladio spots them from afar.

Prompto runs on ahead and nearly tackles him in front of the hotel. "Big guy! Where the hell have you been?" Gladio good-naturedly detaches Prompto with a light shove and a tousle. Noctis and Ignis quicken their pace. 

The first thing Noctis notices, heart in his throat, is that Gladio is fine. The second thing he notices are the wounds.

"Whoa. Someone did a number on you," Prompto says after a second. He reaches out as if to lift Gladio's shirt aside for a clearer look, but Gladio steps backwards.

"You should see the other guy," Gladio says, unfazed.

There's a slash across his chest, newly-healed. There's another across his forehead. Noctis believes him, but they're deep wounds, too close.

"Got two beds with our names on 'em upstairs," Gladio says, pointing over his shoulder.

There's a moment where Noctis isn't sure if this is supposed to be an apology. If it is, he isn't sure he's supposed to accept.

But Prompto, always Prompto so easy to forgive, lets out a whoop.

"Nice! I call the shower before Noct makes the tub all nasty," Prompto says, and he darts upstairs, and Noctis says "oh no you _don't_ ," and Gladio tosses him the key card before he races up after, and everything's just fine.

\---

Noct spends forty minutes in the shower just to torture Prompto.

With the warm shower spray washing away layers of sweat and grime and other debris not worth thinking about, Noctis wonders if this is what it's like to be normal.

He wonders if this is what it's like to hunt for a living. To sleep in a different place each night, to eat whatever you can scrounge up, to go from nowhere to nowhere and decide what you want for yourself. To meet people by chance, to cross paths unexpectedly, to fall for some by accident. To get irritated by them when they're around, and to worry about them when they're not.

He wonders how he'll remember this trip, when he gets wherever they're meant to be going.

\---

He emerges in a cloud of steam to see Prompto and Gladio in the middle of a vicious King's Knight campaign.

"No no no no. Just a little... godsdamnit!" Prompto says. He throws down his phone in disgust.

"I'm gone for over a week and you haven't leveled up a bit," Gladio marvels.

"Not one word from you, Mister I Have Important Experience Points To Mine On My Own," Prompto says, jumping up and grabbing a towel. "Okay? Noct, kick his butt."

"Oh no," Noctis says. "Maybe after a long, long nap in this nice, soft bed that I get while you're still in the bath."

"All of you are the worst," Prompto whines as he squeezes past Noctis into the bathroom. Noctis smiles and closes the bathroom door in his face.

The room is quiet, silence heavy as the shower starts up again in the background. Noctis walks to the windows, peering around the drapes.

"Where's Iggy?" he asks, toweling his hair.

"Out stocking up so we can hit the road tomorrow," Gladio says, sitting up on the bed and setting aside his phone. "Bright and early."

"Well, he does have one more mouth to feed than usual," Noctis says, yawning. He returns to the bed across the way. Gladio shoots him a look.

"Sounds like you got on fine without me," Gladio says. "Prompto says Aranea took good care of you."

Got on fine. Sure. "Yeah. She's not so bad when you get to know her," Noctis says.

He sits on the bed. The sky is getting dark outside and the lamps are on, soft. They have a long day ahead of them tomorrow, and Noctis feels the ache in his muscles, drowsiness calling to him.

He looks at Gladio.

"Are we gonna talk about where you've been?" he says. He keeps his voice even.

He can see the scars up close now, cuts clean and foreign. One on the face, another on Gladio's chest close to the heart, smaller scars peppered across his skin. Scars are nothing knew, but Noctis doesn't know where these are from, doesn't know _who_ scuffed up his Shield this time.

"Not right now," Gladio says. "You're about to fall over."

"So are you," Noctis says, because he knows it's true, and Gladio can't evade the topic forever. "Should we have been there?"

"Not something you need to worry about."

"Yeah," Noctis scoffs. "A Shield ain't that easy to replace."

At this, Gladio looks uncomfortable. Noctis gets the feeling that this is something Gladio already knows but has been trying to forget.

Gladio finally looks away.

"Sorry. Won't happen again," he mutters eventually.

That's not the point, but then he's not sure what point he's trying to get at, and Gladio looks chastised enough that he decides to drop the topic for today.

Instead, after a moment of hesitation, Noctis reaches out like Prompto had done earlier.

He moves slowly. Maybe Gladio gets that he needs to reassure himself, because this time he sits still. He lets Noctis peel his shirt aside gingerly.

The scar's pretty bad. Noctis can tell it could've been worse, though. Should've been there, he thinks. He should've been here.

His fingers hover close, but before they touch skin, Gladio catches his hand and carefully sets it aside. Something about that tugs at Noctis's memory, but he's tired, they all are.

"Better get some sleep," Gladio says quietly. It's a long way to Altissia.

This is the last night they'll be in a room until Caem again. They'll spend most of tomorrow on the road, and probably the next couple nights crammed into a tent.

The sound of shower spray stops. Noctis lets his arm drop.

"Yeah," Noctis says.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=103753#cmt103753):
> 
> "The scene where Gladio and Noctis are wearing the thermal suit in the power generator. Imagine them having previously existing Unresolved Sexual Tension, they dance around each other because both are loyal to their duty first and foremost. When Noctis runs into the Hunter in the power generator, he is reminded of Gladio. He throws caution to the wind and acts on his lust, thinking a quickie with a stranger to assuage his yearning for Gladio may be a good idea. Little does he know Gladio is thinking the exact same thing underneath the other thermal suit. Cue anonymous sexy time. I'll leave the logistics of it (restricted time? Sex through a thermal suit?) as well as whether or not there is a reveal to the filler."
> 
> if you enjoyed this or wanna chat, hit me up with a kudos/comment/find me at [mushydesserts.tumblr.com](https://mushydesserts.tumblr.com/) :)


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